Defiance
by ducky76
Summary: Sam and John have their first fight, and it's about Dean. Both of them are stubborn, but back then it was much easier to strike a truce. When they have their final fight before Stanford, things don't turn out so well.
1. Chapter 1

This is my first Supernatural story so I would really appreciate some feedback!

Summary: Sam and John have their first fight, and it's about Dean. Both of them are stubborn, but back then it was much easier to strike a truce.

I'm considering writing a second chapter for this about Sam and John's big fight that made Sam leave. Should I do it?

* * *

"Dad, Dean hasn't come back yet," Sam said as he stood in the doorway to the garage, where John was cleaning his weapons. "He went for a walk after he walked me home from school, and he's still out."

John grunted in response, but he continued cleaning the machete that he was currently working onSam stepped into the room and shut the door. "It's the third time this week," he said, though he knew John was aware of that.

"He's out sulking again," John replied, setting down the machete so that he could pick up a gun. Usually, Dean would be doing this job. He _enjoyed _doing this job, detailing the weaponry, becoming familiar with it, making it shine like it was new. It was actually Dean's way of picking up his own bad moods, unless of course, he was feeling extra down in the dumps. In that case, Dean would go out and wander around aimlessly, a habit he'd only recently developed after he'd realized it was okay to let Sammy out of his sight.

"Dean doesn't sulk," Sammy defended his brother.

John shot him a look, the are-you-kidding-me look. "Dean sulks better than anyone. He just does it where I can't see."

"He's upset," Sam said indignantly while he took a seat on an overturned bucket. "But he isn't _sulking_."

"Right Sam," John said indifferently, looking back at the rifle. "Something you want?"

Sam said nothing, just stared at his father for a minute or two. He sighed as he leaned back against the wall. "Don't you want to know _why _Dean's upset?"

"Would it really matter?" John asked. "Dean'll be upset about whatever stupid thing he's upset about." He looked at Sam. "Besides, I got a feeling you're going to tell me anyway, aren't you?"

"Dean doesn't want to move yet," Sam said simply.

"Dean doesn't care about the moving Sammy," John said, as if his younger son was being absolutely ridiculous. He wondered if maybe Sam was really trying to say that he himself didn't want to move at the end of the week. "He doesn't mind it one bit. Besides, we've been here longer than usual. It's about time we leave."

"He never gets to make friends Dad," Sam said. "I make them faster than he does, I think, because I try to do some of the after school stuff. But he's always trying to look after you and me. And he knows we're just going to leave, so I think he just doesn't bother. He _never _makes friends."

"Then, why does he care if we leave?" John asked as he went back to cleaning he gun.

"Because this time he did make friends," Sam told him. "There's a girl."

John smirked and shook his head. "Of course," he said sarcastically. "Of course, there's a girl." Hard to believe, but his older son, who had once been a very awkward-looking little boy, had really grown into his looks. His big green eyes weren't so big any longer, his jaw was strong and powerful, and his training had helped him buff up much more than other boys his age. The fifteen-year-old had the poise and prowess of an older, more mature man. John had been wondering when there would be a girl. "This girl got a name?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. Never met her. She's really pretty though. I know that because I saw her walking with Dean a lot to meet me at my school. He never brought her close enough to meet me, though."

"So is that where Dean is right now?" John asked, as it suddenly hit him that Dean was sneaking around. "With that girl?"

Sam shook his head. "He hasn't been walking with her at all since you said we were leaving. He isn't out with her Dad." He put his hands on the edge of the bucket, between his legs, his left hand resting on top of the right as he leaned forward. "He isn't out sulking, either," he added protectively. What would Dean say if he knew that Sam was just as protective of him as he was of Sam.

"Right," John said, though Sam knew he wasn't really agreeing with him. "You already established that Dean doesn't sulk."

"Anyway, Dad," Sam continued. "There's this dance…"

That really got John's full attention. He looked at Sam skeptically. "Dance? Dean doesn't do dances."

"Dean's never been able to do dances," Sam countered.

"He wouldn't want to," John told the boy, as he set down the gun and the rag he'd been cleaning it with.

"Then, why were two tickets for it in the trash the night that you told us we were leaving?" Sam asked, standing up and pulling the two tickets from his back pocket.

John frowned as he grabbed the two tickets. Sure enough, they were for a semi-formal homecoming dance that was set to take place the Friday after their planned departure. "What the hell is a dance good for anyway?" the hunter said.

Sam shrugged. "Don't ask me. I'm still in middle school, so I don't know."

"Dean wouldn't buy tickets to this damn thing," John said as he handed them back to Sam. "He wouldn't want to go to one of those."

"But he did," Sam said. "And he does. He wants to go so that he can take that girl."

"Dean tell you all of this, did he?" John asked.

"No. But I can tell that it's what's wrong with him."

"He'll get over it."

"No," Sam said, walking closer so that he was almost toe-to-toe with his father. "It's not fair."

That was the first time John had ever heard those words from Sam. It had always been 'why?' Now it was 'not fair.' He had a feeling this wouldn't be the last time he'd hear those words from Sam. "Life's not fair."

"It's even less fair for Dean," Sam said angrily. "He doesn't get anything he wants Dad. Never. He doesn't even bother to ask you, probably because he knows he won't get it."

"Drop it, Sam," John warned. He towered over the boy, to let him know he was crossing a line.

But if Sam knew he'd crossed that line, he didn't care much. He squared his feet and stood up tall, puffing his chest out with indignation as he crossed his arms over it. He wasn't looking even the least bit intimidated. "No."

"Sam," John said in a low, threatening tone, expecting the boy to stand down. Why was such a simple conversation getting out of hand like this? They were talking about a stupid _dance_, for Christ's sake!

"No," Sam said again, standing even taller, if possible.

"What the hell is your problem?" John growled. "You do not get to tell me 'no.' Is that clear?" No answer. "I want a 'yes, sir,' Sam."

Sam's nostrils flared, and he narrowed his eyes. "No, _sir_!" he barked as if he were a military soldier, but the sarcasm behind the word sir was enough to piss his dad off even if he'd said 'yes.'

John's frown deepened. Dean had never been so insubordinate, had never so strongly questioned his father's authority. Sure, once he had hit the age Sammy was at, and he'd begun to deliberately expand his vocabulary of colorful profanities, the boy had definitely become a bit mouthy, but mostly with other authority figures. John rarely got the brunt of those verbal attacks.

No, when John had a problem with Dean, it usually involved some outside factors.

Like when Dean had been twelve and a little late in catching up to the height of some of his peers, he'd kicked some kid's sorry ass for calling him short. How could those kids have known that scrawny, awkward little Dean Winchester knew more ways to kill someone than most grown men ever would, and that, even with his inferior size, it made it all too easy for him to get the upper hand?

Or the time when Dean had mouthed off to his eighth grade science teacher for claiming that there was no such thing as a poltergeist. "Overactive imagination," John had had to tell the man. "Kid watches too many movies. I'll make sure he cuts down."

John's personal favorite had happened just a few months ago, when he'd found a cigarette butt in the trash can. Dean had never been a stupid kid, but hell if he had ever been exactly smart when he tried to hide something he knew would piss John off. And the trash? Bad place to try and hide the evidence, especially when the house still smells like a bar. John had presented the butt to him, promptly receiving a flat-out lie of 'It's not mine, I swear' that had pissed him off further. Then, he'd stormed out of the house, leaving a frightened Dean fairly sure that he was in for and ass-kicking, only to return with a pack of cigarettes from the nearest convenience store. He'd thrust the pack at Dean, said, 'Smoke up,' and forced the poor kid to smoke the entire pack. When Dean had become sick that night, coughing and throwing up in the bathroom, John hadn't helped and he'd commanded Sammy not to help either. Of course, his anger had dissipated later, and he'd gone in to help out his son while the younger one slept. Silent apologies had been understood while remaining unspoken, a truce had come, and all had been set right between father and son.

Dean was constantly going through new stages of rebellion, but mostly they were the normal kind for a troubled fifteen-year-old boy. The kind of rebellions that were directed against the world, not specifically John. But then again, Pastor Jim had suggested once to John that Dean's little escapades were his way of… How had Jim put it? _Passive-aggressively rebelling against him_.

John snorted. That, he could accept. As long as Dean made no clear sign of outright defiance, John could care less what kind of passive-aggressive attempts he made to express his anger. So long as Dean was one-hundred percent behind his father and came through when it counted, John was satisfied.

But the way Sam stood in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, jaw set firmly, his eyes glaring with so much heat in them John could almost feel it burning his skin… It was enough to send John over the edge. This was his Sammy, his loveable little guy. How could he be so defiant against his own father?John should have seen it coming though, what with the way Sam was always asking his father why they did the things they did and why they did them that way. He should have seen it in the way Sam always seemed to have no problem asking… no… _telling _his father what he needed or wanted. It was something Dean had never been able to do, pursuing his own needs, maybe because he was so used to looking after Sammy's, but Sam had it down to an art form, getting what he needed.

Not that Sam was selfish. Quite the contrary. All of those years of being taken care of by his big brother had made him very grateful… only towards his brother, that is. Sam could see just how much Dean gave him every single second of his life, and he appreciated and loved Dean more than any other person in the world. He would never ask Dean for a goddamn thing, because he knew Dean would give it to him anyway, whether Sam wanted him to or not.

His father, on the other hand, was always the prime target for his questioning. Ever since the age of seven, Sam had always told his father what was on his mind. But up until this particular conversation, it had always been in a friendly, curious manner. 'Why do we have to destroy the ghost?' 'Why do we move around so much?' 'Why us and not someone else?' 'Why can't I play soccer?' 'Why don't I get to have as much fun as other kids my age?' 'Why does Dean never get to have _any _fun?'

John should have known that his first fight with Sam would be over Dean though. With Dean's hesitance, or downright refusal, to strive for his own wants and needs, and Sam's ease at doing so for himself, John should have known that soon Sam would also find ease in doing it for Dean. Sam was lucky that Dean was out moping, because if he'd known that Sam was fighting his father for him, he'd have been pretty upset by it. Dean put his own desires on hold if it was something that he'd have to fight for, because he'd much rather fight for Sammy's or John's .

"One extra week," Sam said, calmly now.

"Who the hell do you think you are Sammy?" John asked angrily.

"One extra week," Sam repeated, standing his ground. "Then we leave. Dean gets to take the girl out, and then we can leave."

"You are in no position here to call the shots," John told him.

"Well, having you in charge puts you in the position to make our lives miserable!" Sam retaliated.

John glared at him. And eleven year old should never talk like that to his own father. John wasn't trying to make their lives miserable. He didn't even think they were miserable. Maybe not completely happy, but not miserable. It was the job, though, that did it. John couldn't help it. Mary's killer was out there. If they were miserable, it was Mary's killer to blame, not John.

"Dean thinks he's a freak," Sam said. "Can't blame him for feeling that way though, because I feel like I am too sometimes. We have a freaky life, that's for sure. It's such bullshit."

"Watch your mouth," John said, but he didn't sound as mean and gruff as before.

Sam didn't apologize. "It's one dance. Sure, dances are probably really stupid. And Dean probably doesn't even care about the dance, not so much as the girl he planned on taking. But it's _normal_. Can't Dean at least do one normal thing while he's still in high school?"

"Sam I made my decision, already," John said.

"Then, change your mind!" Sam shouted. "It's one fucking week!"  
"You watch that mouth of yours!" John warned again. _Christ, he's starting to sound like his brother the way he curses._

"I will when you stop being an ass," Sam said.

Oh, that was it. Sam had finally struck John's last nerve. Where did a kid his age get off calling his own father an ass? "Sam."

"Dad," Sam replied evenly.

"Go to your room before I give in to the temptation kick your ass to China and back," John said, trying to keep his voice calm. "You will stay in your room for the rest of the night, and you will only come out to use the bathroom or to eat, in which case you will not speak to either me or your brother. You will not read any of your books to entertain yourself, unless it is your homework. You will not speak even when you and Dean both go to bed. And you will do the same when you come home from school every day, until we leave next Saturday morning."

Sam's eyes brightened as he realized he'd won, but he tried to maintain an angry expression.

"Is that understood?" John asked.

"Yes, sir," Sam said, the sincere use of the response as somewhat of a truce, telling his dad he was more than happy to accept the punishment if it helped Dean.

* * *

Dean came back about a half hour later and went to his bedroom as if nothing was wrong with him. "Hey Sammy," he said as he saw his little brother staring at the ceiling. "Where's your book, dork? Kind of weird seeing you without one. Twilight Zone-ish."

"I'm not allowed to read," Sam said simply, not bothering to look at him. "Or talk." He was doing a very good job at appearing grumpy and bored, but he was actually quite proud of himself.

Dean quirked an eyebrow and shrugged before walking out of the room. He found his father in the kitchen, heating up some frozen dinners in the microwave. "What's up with Sammy?" Dean asked as he went to pour himself a cup of orange juice.

"Grounded," John grunted.

Dean's eyes widened. "His first grounding?" he asked, in shock. "Wow this is a momentous occasion Dad. I mean, I got grounded for the first time when I was eight-"

"You were a pain in the ass when you were eight."

"-I was beginning to think he'd never get grounded. What did he do?" Dean put the plastic cup to his lips and took a sip, while waiting for an answer.

"Mouthed off," John replied. "Big time."

"'Bout what?" Dean asked.

"Does it really matter?" John pulled out the first of the dinners from the microwave and set in front of one of the stools at the counter. "Sam!" he bellowed. "Come get your dinner!"

A minute later, the youngest Winchester was there, looking very grumpy as he sat in front of his plate.

"So, what did you do?" Dean asked him while he waited for his own dinner to heat up.

"He's not allowed to talk," John said. "So don't bother trying to get a word out of him."

Dean sighed, giving up on his quest for answers about Sam's crime.

Five minutes later, his own plate was in front of him, and he began eating it hungrily. He paused, however, when his father set something down in front of his plate. Two tickets that Dean was sure he'd thrown in the trash three days earlier. "Dad?"

"Found those and thought you might want to keep 'em," John said, while putting the last dinner in the microwave. "It'd be pretty silly to have to buy new ones."

"Why would I need any at all?" Dean asked, trying to sound like he didn't care. "Aren't we leaving this Friday? Besides, dances are really gay."

"Yea, well," John replied, "girls don't think so. And now that Sammy's grounded until next weekend, I guess we have to stick around here until he serves his time. So you might as well go. I'm sure there is a pretty girl who'll want to go with you. I mean, since you clearly take after your father's good looks and all."

"You don't think dances are stupid?" Dean asked him.

John shrugged. "I went to a few, back in my day," he said. "I had a good time. Trust me, the girls love going to them. Did I ever tell you that I took your mother to our homecoming dance junior year? That was before we started dating." He poured himself a cup of orange juice to go with his frozen lasagna. "I know dances sound dumb, but with the right girl they can be a lot of fun. Just give it a chance."

"Fine," Dean said, as if he was giving in to some horrible demand, but Sam saw the spark in his eyes. Dean was more excited to be able to take the girl to the dance then he would ever let on. John saw it too.

The two glanced at each other while Dean wasn't looking, and both of them felt the strong urge to grin. John turned back to the microwave that beeped just in time to divert him, and Sam ducked his head to hide the satisfied smirk that wouldn't leave his face.

John sat down beside his boys with his food. He and Sammy had had their first real fight, and they'd come out no worse for wear. And now it was even more clear to John where Sammy stood when it came to Dean's happiness. _Well, I must have done something right with these boys_.

"So Sammy," Dean asked mischievously. "Does this mean that I can say anything or call you whatever I want and you can't do a damn thing about it?"

John shook his head and grinned to himself. _Wonder how long it'll take before Sammy regrets this one…_

* * *

So let me know what you think! Thanks! 


	2. Chapter 2

So I did decide to do a second chapter. This is John and Sam's last fight before Sam left for Stanford. And, as requested, I put a bit more Dean in it. I actually think this chapter is more about Sam and Dean than Sam and John.

Read and review!! Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Sam sighed for the umpteenth time that night. He'd been lying in bed for two hours and still wasn't asleep. Not that it was anything new, his being restless. He'd been getting that way a lot recently, since he'd found out about his full ride to Stanford. Every time Dean got hurt on a hunt, Sam found himself lying awake at night, trying to chase thoughts of guilt from his head. Trying to chase away the what-ifs. Like… _What if Dean gets himself killed while I'm gone?_ And of course, his guilt was even worse because no one even knew he'd be leaving in a month.

Sam sighed again and tried to get comfortable.

"Sammy," Dean groaned sleepily from the other bed.

Sam looked over at his brother, staring at the heavily bandaged arm and torso that he'd nearly bled to death from when they'd gone hunting a wendigo at 3 in the morning. The damn thing had cut Dean in just the right… or wrong… spot. He couldn't get the image of all the blood out of his head. So much of it that Dean had been in bed recuperating all day. "You're awake?" he asked.

"There's no sleeping with you over there making all that noise," Dean said as he opened his eyes and looked at his little brother. "What's the problem?"

"Nothing," Sam lied as he rolled over so that his back was to Dean.

"Uh huh," Dean replied sarcastically. "Well, if there's nothing wrong, then I would really like to get back to my beauty sleep."

"Probably should," Sam joked. "You need _a lot _of it if that's what's supposed to do the trick."

"A real comedian," Dean muttered tiredly.

They were both silent again, but Sam knew that Dean wasn't asleep yet. His breaths hadn't evened out and there was no sound of his very subtle snoring. "Hey Dean?"

"I am not going to get to sleep tonight, am I?" the older brother asked grumpily, but Sam knew he was just pretending to be annoyed.

"I was just thinking about back at Colorado," Sam said. "Do you remember when we lived there?"

"Yea," Dean said. "I think you were eleven, right? What made you think about that?"

"I don't know," Sam said. He honestly had no clue why he was thinking about Colorado and Carrie Walker and that stupid homecoming dance. "Did you have a good time at that dance?"

Dean gave him a strange look. "What the hell, Sam?"

"I never asked you before," Sam said. "Did you have fun? With Carrie, remember?"

"Yea I remember," Dean said. "But why do you care?"

Sam turned back over to face Dean. "It's going to sound really weird," he said. "But you remember me getting grounded? That was why."

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked in confusion. His brother was so fucking cryptic sometimes.

"He grounded me for arguing with him about staying long enough for you to go to the dance," Sam said.

"Why the hell would you argue over a dumb thing like that?" Dean asked, sounding upset to discover that they'd fought over him.

"I don't know," Sam said with a shrug. "I wanted you to have a good time. I think it was the first time Dad and I ever got in a real argument. I pretty much won that one though."

"Won, huh?" Dean said. "I don't think anyone wins 'em anymore."

"Yea…"

They were both silent again as Sam rolled back over to face the wall. "Carrie Walker," Dean said fondly. "Now that was one hell of a girl. That dance was really gay, but I had a good time."

Sam opened his eyes and smiled slightly. "Really?"

"Oh yea. Dude, I even remember that red dress she was wearing, the way it cut down really low in the back. We actually didn't spend much time at the dance though… and she didn't spend much time in that dress. Let's just say… I became a man that night. Thank god her parents were away on vacation."

"Dean!" Sam yelled. "You were fifteen! You were a fifteen-year-old boy and you had sex with a fifteen-year-old girl! Jesus, who does that at fifteen?"

"Yea, _I _was fifteen," Dean said proudly. "She was seventeen. And so very hot."

"Great… Explains why you came home so damn late."

"I wonder how Carrie's doing," Dean mused. "I bet she still remembers me after that night. I mean… who could forget? Even at fifteen, I was a hit with the ladies. Dean Winchester _never _disappoints. I guess I owe you a big thank you Sammy."

"Ok, Dean," Sam said in annoyance. Of course, Dean had to turn Sammy's innocent little good deed into something not so innocent. "You can shut up now that I feel responsible for helping you become the horny jerk you are today."

"Ah, quit being such a little bitch." Dean grinned to himself and snuggled deeper into his pillow, careful of his injuries. "Night Sammy."

Sam sighed one last time as he tried again to relax and sleep. He concentrated on Dean's breathing, listening to it becoming heavier as he fell deeper into sleep. He couldn't even fathom just how much he was going to miss Dean when he left next month. He was already beginning to feel it as he realized that the sound of Dean breathing at night would no longer be there to lull him to sleep. It hurt so damn much to think about even now. How much worse was it going to get? How could Sam live without Dean?

Dean, who could do just about any hands-on activity. Who'd been able to make a toy out of anything for Sam. Who could turn just about anything into a weapon. Who was so talented, so creative, so smart.

Dean, who'd never had a chance at a normal life. Who'd gotten a 1370 on the SATs and hadn't shown Dad because he'd known it wouldn't matter. Who'd dropped out of high school halfway through senior year because he couldn't think of a single reason he'd need a diploma for hunting. Who'd either never had a dream of his own or had just been too afraid to say it out loud. Who'd probably assumed that admitting to his dreams would only lead to certain disappointment when they couldn't be fulfilled.

Dean, who'd raised him more than John had. Who'd protected him all of his life. Who'd taught him everything he knew about girls. Who'd always made everything better when it all went wrong.

Dean, who would be heartbroken when Sammy left.

Dean, who was finally starting to snore softly in his sleep. Sam smiled faintly and shut his eyes, letting himself relax to the sound of it, knowing that he'd better enjoy it while he still could.

* * *

The next morning, Dean was craving some good bacon and eggs from the diner in town, so the boys went out for breakfast, Sam driving Dean's precious Impala in case Dean felt weak again from all the blood loss the day before. The entire time, the pit that had been in Sam's stomach the night before kept growing. When time Dean laughed or teased him or flirted with some poor unsuspecting girl who would easily fall for his undeniable charm, Sam couldn't keep it from his mind that he'd have to go all school year without Dean doing those things.

But as they drove back, Sam realized that that wasn't the pit in his stomach. It was a foreboding feeling, and he knew something bad was coming. As he pulled up in the driveway of the cabin, he must've had it written all over his face, because Dean was watching him worriedly. "Dude, you alright?"

Sam ran his hand through his hair nervously. "Yea, Dean," he mumbled as he got out of the car.

Dean rolled his eyes and got out as well, not believing his younger brother for a second. "What's wrong?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing man. Come on. Let's get inside." Before there was room for anymore discussion, he made his way to the front door.

The second he opened it, he wished he hadn't.

John Winchester was sitting on the couch, staring at the door with a strange look on his face, one Sam couldn't quite make out. He'd seen it a few times before, when hunts had gone wrong, once when Sam's negligence had gotten Dean hurt while playing protective older brother, so he assumed it was a look of disappointment. But there was some other discernable emotion in it.

Sam noticed two other things. On the floor by John's foot was a bottle of Jack Daniel's he'd been working on for the past couple of weeks, now completely empty. And in John's hand was a piece of paper. A letter.

"Dude, what's the hold up?" Dean asked, clueless as he tried to make his way past Sam, who'd stopped in the middle of the doorway. He spotted his Dad and froze as well. "Dad?"

John didn't look at Dean, because his gaze was fixed on Sam. "Just got to the mail from yesterday," he said casually.

Sam said nothing, didn't ask what he meant. He knew. Stanford. He picked up his chin a little bit, knowing that his Dad was pissed, but he wasn't about to back off from the challenge.

"'Christopher McCartney,'" John read from the paper. He looked back up at Sam and held out the letter. "That's your roommate's name. Says here he's from Oregon."

Sam took the letter from his father's hand but didn't look at it. He kept his gaze steady with John's.

Dean looked between the two in confusion. "Roommate?"

Sam broke eye contact with John to look at Dean guiltily. "Dean I was going to tell you-"

"Like hell you were!" John shouted as he stood. "Says there that orientation is in less than a month! If you'd been planning on telling us, you'd have done it by now!"

"I was going to tell you!" Sam replied angrily, glaring daggers at his father.

"Tell us what?" Dean asked.

Sam looked back at him again. "Dean…" He gulped and licked his lips. "I… I'm…"

"He's abandoning us," John said. "Sammy's not good enough for this family, so he snuck off behind my back and got himself accepted to Stanford."

Sam looked at the ground in shame when he saw that quick flash of betrayal in Dean's eyes. He felt Dean take the letter from his hand to read for himself. A minute later, the older brother whispered his name sadly, and Sam forced his eyes up at his father's indignant grunt.

"Did you think we wouldn't notice you missing Sam?" John asked. "Think we'd just forget about it?"

Sam pushed a more confident look on his face. _Don't back down_. "No."

"Then, tell me," John said, stepping into Sam's space, toe-to-toe with him. "What were you planning on doing? Enlighten us Sam."

"I was going to tell you soon," Sam said. "I've been waiting for the right time."

"Is that so?" John asked mockingly.

"Yea. Unfortunately, with you, there is never a good time to tell you that I want a real life."

"Real?" John repeated as he walked a few steps away. "Is that what you want Sam? You want to go have a 'real' life at college?"

"Yes," Sam said. "I want a normal life."

"Who said normal was the same as real?" John asked. "Sam, normal is what's fake. Normal people with normal lives can't even begin to imagine the reality of the world they live in."

"Normal people are happy," Sam said evenly.

"Normal people are ignorant. That what you want?"

"Maybe."

"Should've know that you'd do something like this. Leave your family, when they need you." John laughed humorlessly. "You are such a selfish son of a bitch, you know that?"

"Funny," Sam replied dully. "I always thought that was you. Moving your two kids around from place to place all of their lives, keeping them from getting to know people, from having friends and relationships. All so that you can get revenge on that fucking demon."

"That demon killed your mother!" John shouted. "Of course I want revenge!"

"Yea," Sam said calmly. "And that'd be just fine if that was all you wanted. You still haven't found the damn thing, so instead you go after every other supernatural thing you can find."

"We save people Sam. You want to call me selfish for saving people's lives?"

"Saving people, that's a great thing to do, but the way you do it is selfish! You don't do it purely for the satisfaction you get out of helping them. You do it so that you can feel better. You can't stand feeling like you couldn't do anything for Mom-"

"Samuel Winchester, you shut your mouth right now or so help me God…"

"-So you keep trying to make up for it by killing everything else! And you drag us down with you, Dad. You drag us along on your dangerous little adventures, and I can't even count the amount of times one of the three of us has been nearly killed!"

John's fury took over him as he grabbed Sam and pushed him up against the wall, holding him there with the wait of his own body, ignoring Dean's shout of protest. "How dare you suggest that I purposely put you and your brother at risk!" he hissed.

Sam's eyes looked as defiant as ever, but he didn't try to break his father's hold. "Never said you did it on purpose," he said simply. "But it happens. Dad, I can't keep seeing you and Dean get hurt. I always have to wonder if it's going to be the last time, if it's going to be the injury that finally does one of you in."

"If you leave, you're the one putting Dean and me in danger," John said.

"No, Dad," Sam said. "You are the one always walking into the danger. How can you try to pin the guilt on me when I don't even support this lifestyle? If we didn't look for danger, we'd never find it."

John ignored his protests. "We're a three person team Sam. If you leave, we'll be down a man."

Sam push John off of him and stepped away from the wall. "So I'm _just _a man on the team then?" he asked, feeling a bit hurt that it was about the team, not the family.

"What's college going to do for you boy?" John growled. "Is it going to teach you how to kill a wendigo? Are you going to learn how to detect and protect yourself from a demon? Is college going to help you survive against all of the crazy shit you know is out there?"

"No, I'm going to college so I that I can get far away from you and the hunt," Sam said calmly. "And _that's _how I plan to survive. By living a normal life and not putting myself in danger. I don't plan on looking to get myself killed like you Dad."

"Get out of my face right now," John warned. "Before I kick your ass to show you some respect."

"Oh, I will be out of your face as soon as I go to Stanford," Sam replied.

John let out a short laugh and shook his head. "You plan on leaving?" he dared. "You're really serious about this, Sam? Then you'd better go now."

"Fine. I bet Pastor Jim will let me stay with him until school starts. Hell, I bet he'll also be excited for me. You know, like a normal person would be when they find out someone got a full ride to Stanford."

"Sorry to tell you," John said. "But we aren't a normal family."

"Isn't that the truth," Sam said spitefully. It was almost in audible, but his father heard it.

John's voice came out in a low rumble, like thunder building. "If you walk out that door, Samuel, you'd better not come back. If you want to leave your family now, to _abandon _us, then that's it. There'll be no turning back."

Sam swallowed nervously, but his appearance was no less defiant. "You got it," he almost whispered. "I'm gone."

John said nothing more, just turned his back on the boy and headed off to the kitchen. About to acquaint himself with a new bottle of Jack, most likely.

Sam looked down at the floor once John was gone. His breathing hitched once and his shoulders slumped. Dean still stood near the doorway, horrified beyond belief. He licked his lips, realizing his mouth had suddenly gone dry. "Sammy…"

Sam looked up at him, his eyes apologetic and sad, but he didn't speak.

"You…" Dean shifted his weight uncomfortably. "You're not going to… are you?"

"I should go get my things," Sam said softly as he turned and walked away.

"Sam, come on," Dean pleaded as he followed his brother to the room, where Sam began throwing all of his belongings into a bag. "Dad doesn't mean it. You guys were just mad at each other. You both said a lot of things that you don't mean. You don't need to leave."

"I meant every word of it Dean," Sam said very seriously without looking at his brother. "I'm not just leaving because I'm pissed off. I want my own life Dean."

"You have a life," Dean told him. "Here with me and Dad. This is our life."

Sam looked up from the bag, his eyes revealing a mixture of strong emotions. "No," he said. "This is Dad's life. He picked it for himself. And you're letting him pick it for you. He won't pick it for me. I want to go to college and not hunt fucking monsters all the time."

"We do good things," Dean said. "We help so many people-"

"What about ourselves Dean?" Sam interrupted. "What do we ever do for ourselves? Can you honestly tell me that you find this all fulfilling? When is this job ever going to do something to make us happy?"

"I want to save people," Dean said defensively.

"But are you happy Dean?" Sam said. "Honestly. Are you happy?"

Dean's jaw set. He breathed loudly through his nose, indicating to Sam that he was frustrated at having no answer for him.

"Dean," Sam said. "What does make you happy? I bet you don't even know… You never got the chance to know. I mean… Christ, Dean… you could have done so many things with your life. You could've gone to college if you'd actually taken the risk of giving a shit about something other than Dad's opinion. You could've-"

"You," Dean interrupted him suddenly.

Sam quirked and eyebrow in confusion. "What?"

Dean swallowed. "You, Sam," he said. "Being your big brother. Being Dad's son. That makes me happy, as long as I know I'm doing the job right. I like taking care of you guys."

"Jesus Dean…" Sam sighed and shook his head as he went back to his bag. "This is what I mean," he said. "You don't want anything for _yourself_. Always identifying your needs by someone else's." He zipped the bag and threw it over his shoulder. "I can't do it anymore. I can't watch you tear yourself apart for me and Dad. I can't watch you become less of a person because you keep putting yourself aside, Dean."

"Less of a person?" Dean asked angrily as he followed Sam again, this time towards the front door. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, huh?"

Sam stopped at the door to look at Dean. "You gotta figure it out yourself, man," he said. "Maybe without me around you can. You taking care of me isn't doing you any good Dean. I know it's all you've done since Mom died. But it's not your only purpose in life."

Dean felt like he'd been kicked in the balls. How the hell could Sam say something like that to him after everything they'd been through in past eighteen years? "Sammy…" What the hell was the kid implying? That Dean wasn't his own person? That Dean was nothing without his family? Dean already knew he was nothing without them. And he had nobody else.

Sam had to look away from the hurt he saw in his brother's eyes. "Dean, I'm sorry. I have to do this."

"You don't plan on walking all the way to Pastor Jim's do you?" Dean asked protectively, grabbing hold of his brother's arm.

"I'll take a bus…"

Dean didn't let go. He stared into Sam's eyes, searching for something… anything to take the sting off what Sam was doing to him. He came up with nothing. It just hurt like hell. "Do you really resent Dad this much?" he asked.

"Yes and no," Sam said softly, not wanting for John to hear from the kitchen. "I realize that he does everything for a reason, Dean, but he's too obsessed. He's gone too far, and he's dragged us down with him. What I resent is the crappy childhood his obsession gave us."

Dean's face fell even more, if it was even possible. "Crappy childhood?" he repeated. "So you resent me, then? 'Cause I was part of that childhood you're complaining about. You hate me, don't you Sam?"

"No!" Sam exclaimed. "Jesus, Dean, having you was the only good part about growing up in this family! It's just that… we could never be normal. It's like being normal is a fucking crime. I rarely got to enjoy being a kid. And you _never _got to enjoy it." He adjusted the strap on his bag so that it wouldn't fall off his shoulder. "I want more. I want you to have more. But I can't make you want more for yourself. So I've got to do this for myself."

Dean said nothing. He just stared blankly at Sam, feeling empty. His head was pounding, but he didn't care. Sammy, his Sammy, the little brother he'd helped raise… He was abandoning him. He felt a bit light-headed and must've swayed, because Sam's hand came up to steady him.

"Dean," Sam said guiltily. "You're looking a little pale. Maybe you should sit down. Probably still feeling bad from all the blood loss."

Dean shut his eyes against the throbbing in his head and let himself be guided to the couch. He opened them again when he felt the couch shift as weight was added beside him.

Sam was sitting there, watching him apprehensively. "And this is the other part I hate," he said. "Constantly getting hurt. Constantly watching you and Dad get hurt."

"That ungrateful little shit gone yet?" John called from the kitchen, clearly aware that Sam was still in the house.

Sam sighed. It was his signal to get the hell out of there. "Dean…"

"Just go," Dean whispered to his feet.

"Dean-"

"Go." Dean looked up at him with the most pain in his eyes Sam had ever seen. It was worse than any physical injury he'd ever sustained. Pain of betrayal. Pain of being left behind.

Sam nodded reluctantly and stood. He put one hand on Dean's shoulder. "Dean, I love you man… I hope you know that. It doesn't have to be this way. You can do so much. Don't sell yourself short."

"Go Sammy," Dean said as he shrugged the hand off his shoulder.

Sam sighed and made his way out, surprised to hear Dean's voice again as he began to push the door open.

"I'm proud of you Sammy," he said, while staring at the floor. "For getting into Stanford. Good luck."_ But it still hurts like hell that you're leaving us… leaving me._

Sam didn't turn to look at him as he froze in the doorway. "Thanks Dean. Bye."

The door shut behind the youngest Winchester, and Dean finally stood back up once he was sure the dizzy spell had ended. "Son of a bitch," he muttered under his breath as he walked to the kitchen.

John was sitting there with a bottle of whiskey he'd just drank a bit of and a glass in his hand. "So that's it…"

Dean nodded as he grabbed a glass of his own, setting it down in front of his dad. He wanted to blame his old man for what had happened, because he knew that John had reacted so harshly to it. But then it occurred to him. _He's all I've got left of me now…_

John grabbed the bottle and filled Dean's glass as the younger man sat down. "He'll regret it," he said too surely. "He'll be back."

Dean just took the glass and drank, giving no response.

"He'll see he's wrong and that he needs us. He'll come back."

Dean looked at his father and found that he couldn't help the blame. "Yea Dad," he said gruffly, after another drink from his glass. "Maybe if you hadn't made sure the door hit him in the ass on the way out." He finished his glass and set it down. He couldn't push the growing hopelessness in him away as he reached for the bottle and refilled his father's glass. He got up, taking the rest of the bottle with him as he walked away to go sit on the front porch. "Sam's gone, Dad. He's not coming back."


End file.
